


Strength and Weakness

by finefeatheredfriend



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur's got a thing for strong women, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape Recovery, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:27:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23603068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finefeatheredfriend/pseuds/finefeatheredfriend
Summary: From a tumblr prompt where Arthur realizes how much he loves strong women as he teaches Sadie how to handle herself.
Relationships: Sadie Adler/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 17
Kudos: 129





	1. Spring

They didn’t see it. None of them saw it. How she flinched not only when they touched her, but when the looked at her. How, every time a man’s gaze crossed over her, she blinked, her head bowing slightly. They didn’t see it when she reached down between her legs, wincing as she touched abused flesh. They didn’t see it when she shifted her skirt and revealed a dark purple hand print on her ankle.

But Arthur saw it. Arthur saw her for what she truly was: a woman dealt an unfair hand by fate. Her home, her husband, her innocence all taken from her in one fell swoop. Arthur already disliked the O’Driscolls for what had happened to Dutch’s former paramour, but he _hated_ them for this. Who knew how many other women they had done this to? Who knew what they might have done if she had a child? The bile rose in his throat as he paralleled Sadie with Eliza. A woman, capable, beautiful, with a man who cared about her but ultimately could not protect her. A woman with hopes, dreams, talents, accomplishments, all of that dashed by the selfishness of a few rotten men.

Arthur sat down on the far end of the log away from her, knowing she wouldn’t want a man near her, even after moving down to Horseshoe Overlook, even after nearly three weeks had passed since her ordeal. He knew better than most that some traumas never heal completely. Sitting quietly, he pulled an apple from his satchel, began idly slicing it into pieces, realized the knife might stir up unpleasant memories and fumbled shoving it back into its sheath, dropping the apple.

“Damn,” he muttered, picking up the pieces and pouring water from his canteen over them to clear away the dirt and grass. Sadie’s head turned toward him slightly and he heard a small sound – a chuckle. It was the first laugh he had ever heard from her. He turned to her slowly, like one would when approaching a wild animal, and he met her eyes. She looked amused, but there was still that hint of panic in her gaze. He held his hand open and flat, a slice of apple perched on it. “Want some?” he asked softly.

“After you dropped it in the dirt?” she criticized in her raspy voice. He didn’t extend his hand any farther, didn’t want to intrude on her space.

“I washed it off,” he pointed out, giving her a small smile. She shrugged and scooted closer to him, taking it from his hand with a quick motion as though convinced he would snatch her arm. She bit into the slice, chewing thoughtfully.

“I don’t want your pity, Mr. Morgan.” He raised a brow, stared at her, waiting for her to continue. She glanced at him. “But I wouldn’t say ‘no’ if you taught me a few things.”

“Alright,” he agreed. “What’d you have in mind?”

“My husband…Jake,” she made a strangled sound in her throat, “he…um, he showed me a few things with a gun. But I heard about what you did to that man in Valentine. You didn’t use a gun or a knife and you still nearly killed him.” Arthur gave a chagrined look.

“Well, I reckon that has a lot to do with bein’ heavy and havin’ a bad temper.”

“No. You’re fast, and you hit hard. Show me. Please.” He nodded, tilting his head to the side in a motion of unsurety.

“Alright. But…I’ll have to touch you.” Her face crumpled.

“I’ll be fine. I ain’t some delicate flower!” she snapped, her fear gone as quickly as it had appeared. Arthur held his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“I know, I know, it’s just…I don’t much like people puttin’ their hands on me. Figured you was the same.” Sadie nodded after a moment. She appreciated the out he was offering her, but she knew why he was doing it. She opened her mouth to speak, paused, then charged on, needing to say what she had suspected, needing to be sure of him.

“You know I, I spent some time just watchin’. You’re a good man, Arthur. You’ve been doin’ good work, gettin’ this camp livable. And…I see how you approach me. How you are around me compared to the others. You _know.”_ There was significance to that word. Arthur met her eyes.

“I do,” he confirmed, forcing himself not to glance at her ankles or her wrists, which were still marked with yellowing bruises. Sadie’s jaw clenched.

“I appreciate you tryin’ to help me, Mr. Morgan.”

“Arthur, Mrs. Adler, please.”

“Alright then, call me Sadie.” She held out a hand. It was trembling slightly. Arthur took it with great care not to squeeze too hard, not to lean too far into her personal space.

“Sadie.”

“Arthur. There’s…” She sighed, swallowed, touching her belly. “There’s one more thing I need you to do for me, please.”

“Whatever you need,” he said, meaning it. She pulled a tattered, wadded mess of paper from her skirts and handed it to him as though it was something illicit. He straightened the paper and read it. It was a list of herbs - stoneroot, smartweed, black snakeroot, squawroot. His eyebrows rose and he blinked quickly, trying to keep his face neutral. He was raised around camp girls. He knew what those herbs were for.

“Please,” she begged. “I just…I need to be sure.” Arthur clenched his jaw, holding one hand out, palm up, offering it if she needed the touch. She put her hand very hesitantly into his own. He cupped his fingers around hers, squeezing lightly.

“Whatever you need,” he repeated. “I’ll go find you these right now.” Arthur swallowed when she squeezed his hand back, closing her eyes in gratitude.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

\----------------------

"Goddamnit, Strauss, I said 'not right now'!" Arthur griped as he continued packing his satchel.

"Well, I do not see what else you are verking on, Mr. Morgan. The debt must be repaid and as you are the gang's workhorse..."

"Yeah, yeah," Arthur cut him off, rolling his eyes. "Look, I promised Mrs. Adler I'd take her out of camp for a bit, get her some air. Maybe, _maybe_ \- don't look at me like that over them glasses, Strauss - maybe I'll head out to the Downes' place again after. I saw the poor bastard beggin' for the poor in Valentine. Man don't got two cents to rub together himself."

"Und zat is my problem because...?"

"Because...dammit, because... _shit._ Fine, I'll go out there. Maybe today, maybe next week, depends."

"Depends upon what, Mr. Morgan? Ve need more funds for seh camp," Strauss groused in his lilting accent.

"I'll get the muneh, Strauss, just...it's fine. Mrs. Adler, are we going?!" he roared, more aggressively than he had intended, but his hackles were up. He hated collecting debts and this would be the second time he was visiting the Downes'.

"You don't gotta yell," Sadie pointed out dryly as she approached him. He nodded.

"Sorry, sorry. Can you, er, do you want to saddle another horse?" She considered for a moment.

"Just yours is fine for now, Arthur."

"Alright. Climb aboard." Arthur reached his big hand down to her and Sadie had to force herself not to flinch, not to pull away. This calloused hand, adorned with soft green veins down its back and an oddly short life-line on its palm was kind, gentle. She had nothing to fear from him, and yet she felt afraid, felt powerless. Anger shot through her. Enough of that. She clenched his hand firmly and found herself surprised when he lifted her as though she weighed nothing. She barely had a chance to sling her leg up and over the back of his horse. She settled herself, adjusting her skirts, cursing the bunched material under her breath. Ridiculous clothing. Jake had never forced her to wear such nonsense.

Jake. A streak of pain shot through her at the thought of him, as she put her hands gingerly on Arthur's solid waist. Arthur was thicker than Jake, bulkier, but he was softer in the middle over all that muscle. He was warm, and for an outlaw who more often bathed in the river than in a tub, he smelled good, like pine sap and wool and horses. She swallowed. She missed the days when a man was just a man, and not a potential predator, not a threat to be assessed at every turn. Arthur's muscles bunched beneath her hand on his waist as he settled himself in the saddle and goaded his horse forward.

The trail was thick with brush and roots and the ride was anything but smooth, so Sadie was forced to grip the horse with her thighs and to wrap her arms more tightly around Arthur. Briefly she pressed the side of her head to Arthur's broad back, closing her eyes and listening to the steady _lubdublubdublubdub_ of his heart. Guilt suffused her when she remembered that the last man whose heartbeat she had listened to was Jake's. She jerked her head away from Arthur, ignoring him when he gave her a confused glance over his shoulder.

"Here," he finally said as he pulled his horse up to an open clearing surrounded by oaks and pines. "Good a place as any." He held his hand out again, offering his arm to her as she leapt from the horse, but she ignored it. She didn't need his help, not for that. Arthur hitched his horse and then turned to her, looking awkward. "Last person I taught to fight was Tilly, I think," he admitted sheepishly, scratching at his jaw. "Weeell, first thing I usually teach is where to put your feet. You want a strong base if you're havin' to go toe-to-toe with somebody, especially if they're bigger than you. Here, like so," he showed her, planting his feet shoulder's width apart but with one in front of the other, his body angled to her.

"See, here you present a smaller target for a feller to hit. Turned, see?" He tipped his shoulders to show her. "Now you." She mimicked his stance as best she could, fumbling a bit. "Good. Relax your knees. Alright, sink down into 'em, you wanna be able to shift your weight to either leg. May I touch you?" Arthur asked her. Sadie froze, her eyes going a little wide for a moment.

"Hang on," she said softly.

"Whenever you're ready. Don't hafta be today."

"Don't patronize me," she hissed through clenched teeth. He took a step back, gave her a moment. "Can you just...can you just tell me where you're gonna touch me, before you do?"

"I need to touch your knee. And your shoulder. Your waist. Is that okay?"

"Yes," she said softly.

"You know, I tried to teach Marston how to swim once," Arthur told her, pushing her knee. "Dumb bastard still don't know how. I talked him through all the steps and hucked him into the lake we was campin' by," he said, chuckling and taking a step back to assess her stance before he gently took her by the shoulders and rotated her top half. He avoided meeting her eyes, just continued his tale as he worked to correct her. "He sunk like a damn rock. Funniest damn thing I ever seen. Nearly let him drown I was laughin' so hard," he went on, twisting her waist slightly. "There," he told her softly, and she could feel her body relaxing into the stance, settling comfortably. Arthur met her eyes. "Now take a step forward and let your other foot lead. Good. Again. Here," he reached out a hand and pushed her right shoulder. "You're gonna want to practice that, cuz all the strength of your blow comes from here," he told her, indicating her waist, her thigh. "You want to follow through with your whole body, which means you gotta know how to shift your weight." He watched her shift a few times, nodding, pleased. "Yeah, John ain't much good at anything except gettin' into trouble," Arthur went on as he stepped behind Sadie. "I'm gonna push you now and I want you to do whatever it takes to stay standin', alright?"

Sadie nodded.

Arthur shoved her gently and she shifted her weight, gasping softly. "Good. Yeah, Marston never did learn how to swim. Got scared of bein' in water after a coupla fellas Dutch robbed kidnapped John and nearly drowned him. He never did work past his fear." Arthur met her eyes. "I didn't help him much, neither, tossin' him in like that. My point is, you're doin' a hell of a thing, Mrs. Adler. You ain't lettin' fear stop you. I respect that."

On that note, Arthur shoved her, hard, ramming his open hand into her shoulder. She caught herself and out of instinct and a sudden brutal rage she swung up, shifting her weight hard onto her lead foot, the whole force of her abdomen and leg slinging through her arm. Her knuckles cracked into Arthur's eye socket and he let out a pained yelp, grabbing at his face.

"Goddamn it!" he yelled, and Sadie flinched, stepping back, her eyes wide. But Arthur wasn't angry. He wasn't looming over her, he wasn't grabbing her wrists or twisting his fingers in her hair or shoving her jeans down...she swallowed hard at the memory that had rushed her suddenly. He was laughing. "Well hell, Mrs. Adler," Arthur cackled, "I don't know that you need me to show you much. That was one hell of a hit. Shit. How's your hand?"

As though his words reminded her she had a hand, the pain suddenly radiated in her fingers, running up her wrist. Already her knuckles were beginning to bruise from their impact with Arthur's face. Arthur chuckled again.

"Next week's lesson - how to form a proper fist so you don't break your hand. Shit, looks like you mighta cracked a finger or three. Here," he said, taking her hand gently.

"Shit, that hurts!" Sadie cried as he pressed on a knuckle. He met her eye, one of his already swelling shut.

"Hmm. You'll need to soak it tonight. Come on. Let's head back."

"Thought you had to collect the debt off that Downes fella?" Sadie asked. Arthur scowled. "Consider it practical training," Sadie suggested. Arthur scratched at his chin.

"I don't particularly want you seein' that side of me, Mrs. Adler," he admitted in a low voice. She put her hands on her hips.

"Thought you were teachin' me how to handle myself."

"Collectin' debts...that's...different," he argued lamely. Sadie sighed.

"Look, Arthur, I just ain't ready to go back to camp, yet. That Miss Grimshaw's been bitchin' at me about doin' chores and if Pearson makes one more goddamn comment about my 'bad language,' I'm gonna cut his balls off."

"Well, that answers the question of whether I oughta teach you how to use a knife," Arthur muttered darkly through a chuckle. "Alright. I reckon if you ain't ready to go back to camp, you can come along. But you're stayin' with the horse." Sadie rolled her eyes, climbing up after him, taking his proffered hand without hesitation this time.

Arthur steered his horse up to the property, and Sadie watched, concerned as he approached Downes. The man looked like death warmed over. Sallow cheeks. Pale skin. A wet, rattling cough. Sadie knew she had been told not to intervene, not to participate, but Arthur was drawing closer and closer, his fingers reaching out to fist in the man's shirt.

"Arthur!" she called, her heart in her throat. She had seen consumption before. Lost friends to it. It was an awful way to die. Arthur half-turned to her, clearly annoyed. "I need you for a moment. Please." His face screamed irritation.

"You stay put," he snapped, shoving Downes to the ground. "What?!" he snapped as he approached.

"Don't get in that man's face, Arthur..."

"Sadie, you knew what I was comin' out here to do..."

"Listen to me, you boneheaded idiot. That man right there's got the consumption. Listen to that cough, Arthur. Is Strauss' debt money worth your life?" Sadie asked him, her eyes flicking back and forth between his to hold his gaze, intensity in her own. She had had enough tragedy in her life. She didn't want to lose anyone else. Arthur scowled.

"Well, what the hell do you suggest I do, then?"

"Just leave him be, Arthur." The big outlaw ground his teeth. He spat, clearly agitated, his hands on his wide hips. He glared up at her.

"You shoar that's consumption?" he demanded. Sadie took a shaky breath.

"I'm sure, Arthur. Please. Can we just go? Please." Arthur looked over his shoulder at the terrified family. He slung himself back up onto the horse as Sadie shifted to get out of his way on the saddle.

"I'll be back for that muneh," he drawled in a nasty tone. "Git," he bade his horse, sinking his heels into its sides in irritation.

Arthur was silent on the ride back, occasionally reaching a hand up to touch his tender eye. He was obviously angry with her, but Sadie hardly cared. He hitched his horse, helping her down with a gruff, "Wrap that hand up after you soak it." Strauss approached, but Sadie intervened.

"Leave it, Strauss. The man's got the consumption. We'll deal with it later." Strauss opened his mouth to argue, but stopped when he saw the dark expression on Arthur's face.

Later that evening, Sadie found Arthur sulking on the outskirts of camp, a rifle leaned against his thigh where he stood smoking a cigarette. His eye was a glorious purple-blue and she was fairly certain he couldn't see out of it. In an odd way, she was proud, though she figured that today's events had damned any hope of learning anything more from Arthur.

"Thank you, for today," she said, handing him a cloth full of a poultice she had made. "For your eye," she explained. He took it, glared at her for a moment and then tossed the butt of his cigarette to the ground, stamping the life from it with the toe of his boot. "I know I probly caused you some trouble, but I've seen folk die from consumption, Arthur. It ain't a good way to go."

"I know," he muttered. He glanced up at her, took her hand after pausing briefly to ask non-verbal permission. She rested her fingers in his palm. He bent the joints gingerly. "You'll be alright," he drawled.

Sadie withdrew her fingers from Arthur's warm grip.

"I'll see you in the mornin', Arthur."

"Mrs. Adler," he called as she walked away. She paused.

"Oughta keep practicin' that stance. We'll work on fists with your good hand tomorrow morning. Get some rest." She nodded. "And Sadie," he called again, his voice going softer, gentler. When she turned back to him, his face had gentled, the anger draining from his features. "Thank you. I know you meant well. And...I appreciate it."

"Goodnight, Arthur."

"Goodnight."


	2. Summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Non-consensual groping  
> CW: Attack in an alley  
> CW: Blood  
> CW: Vaginal sex  
> CW: Dominant sex

Summer

Arthur only rarely had time to take Sadie out of camp to help her learn. There was work to be done, money to be made, but he found himself looking forward to spending time with her. Aside from Charles, she was one of the few people he could truly relax around. She didn't judge him or belittle him, and she was kind, and funny. As time passed, she relaxed around him, growing more and more confident as he taught her how to defend herself, how to hit. He would find his heart pumping a little faster as his hand grasped her wrist, when her whiskey-colored eyes met his, the laugh lines deepening as she chuckled at his look of befuddlement when she managed to pick up new skills at the drop of the hat. She was smart as a whip and incredibly strong, despite her small stature.

When they were forced to move to Clemens Point, he found himself relieved. It was far easier to find spaces away from camp here, along the edge of the lake. Still, Sadie was almost too capable now that her confidence had returned. She had nearly killed Pearson, and then nearly gotten both Arthur and herself killed picking a fight with the Lamoyne raiders, but the fire in her eyes fed something in Arthur's soul that hadn't been sated in years. He craved her company like a moth aches to touch a flame, dangerous but worth the risk. He brought her to the lakeside, carrying several knives to practice with. She was a handy shot and her aim was impeccable, but in hand-to-hand combat she still needed his help learning. Arthur wanted her to be able to keep herself safe when she inevitably left the gang, he thought with an odd twinge in his chest.

"Alright," he told her, holding the knife gingerly, "you hold it like so. Nope, relax your wrist. There." Thoughtless, he had stepped up behind her, his front against her back, his arm along the outside of hers, his touch nearly a caress. He took an abrupt step back, swallowing. He had to stop doing that. "Sorry, Mrs. Adler," he murmured. She looked at him with amusement.

"For the hundredth time, you're fine, Arthur." They sparred, their legs and arms tangling, Arthur jerking back as Sadie bared her teeth, rushing him. He saw something in her eyes, a flicker of panic, the same panic he saw there sometimes when he moved too fast, got too close too quickly and she was on top of him, kicking his legs out from underneath him as he had shown her. Next thing he knew, he was on his back on the ground and she was sitting across his chest, the whites of her eyes crisp in the suffused light of the mid-afternoon sun, a blush high in her cheeks and the tip of her knife pressed beneath his jaw hard enough to nick him, a trickle of blood spilling from the wound. Arthur kept his hands above his head, meeting her wild eyes.

"Sadie," he murmured, swallowing, the movement of his Adam's apple forcing the blade to move, slicing him again. "Sadie," he called. She released her grip on the knife, staring down at him, an odd, needy expression on her face.

"Arthur," she mumbled, leaning forward. "I'm sorry," she exclaimed, jumping abruptly back, standing and dashing away, disappearing into the forest before Arthur could object. He sat up, glancing down at a painful hardness that had formed in his pants.

"Goddammit," he hissed, feeling ashamed and embarrassed. A man's arousal pressing against her hips while she was holding a knife to his neck was the last thing Sadie had needed.

\-------

Sadie pressed her hand hard to her forehead. How could she have forgotten Jake? It had only been four months since he had died, but when she had perched atop Arthur, feeling powerful, feeling omnipotent and dangerous and alive...she had forgotten him, for just a moment. When she felt Arthur's want bumping against her hips she had forgotten. Burying her face in her hands, she forced herself to take a deep breath. Life in the wilderness was hard, dangerous. She and Jake had discussed what they wanted if one of them died before the other. He had told her numerous times that she should love after him, that she should move on. But it wasn't that easy. Forgetting him, replacing him, it didn't feel right.

But Arthur was kind. Strong. He didn't underestimate her. He didn't treat her like a delicate flower, nor like a strong-willed bitch as many of the men in camp clearly saw her. He treated her like a person, with thoughts and feelings and dreams. Arthur saw her for who she was. The last man who had looked at her like that was Jake.

"Sadie!" she heard Arthur calling, but she couldn't face him like this, couldn't let him see that she wanted...that she thought she wanted...she didn't know what.

\-------

Things moved fast in camp, but they were glacially slow between Arthur and Sadie. After their brief moment of near intimacy, they no longer practiced defensive moves, or knife strokes, or punches. He tried to catch her alone many nights, to no avail. She always found somewhere to be, something to do. Jobs came and went. They picked a fight with two Southern families and the world went to shit. They moved to an ancient plantation home and Sadie avoided Arthur, studiously keeping away from him unless he needed help dealing with O'Driscolls. For that, she could put aside her feelings, could put aside her guilt. They rescued Jack from a wealthy Saint Denis man – Bronte.

And Sadie found the rat.

It was hardly intentional. She had wanted to go into town, to get away from the ragged old plantation house, to think, to clear her head, and then fog it with drink. Saddling her horse, she rode to Saint Denis, mind whirling. They were planning a bank job, one last big heist so they could go to Tahiti or somesuch place. It all sounded like nonsense to Sadie, but the thought of Arthur leaving, disappearing to a tropical island, leaving her with the choice to stay or to go, it hurt in a way she hadn’t thought she could feel anymore. Staying with the gang, though…she nudged her horse toward the distant town, her throat tight.

Something had to give.

Pulling her horse up to a hitching post outside a favored saloon, she frowned when she noticed Baylock hitched outside as well. What was Micah doing here? There were two more horses, thin and poorly managed with sleek black saddles bearing some sort of insignia. Curious, she stepped closer. She felt the blood rush from her cheeks, felt herself go lightheaded. Pinkertons. She checked her sidearm and her knife, making sure she was ready for anything.

Sadie had hated Micah ever since he had attacked her right after the O’Driscolls, after he had lit her house on fire. He just needed to give her a reason, and damn was he giving her one. The motherfucker was meeting with the Pinkertons. She saw him in the back corner of the darkened bar and ducked her head low, pulling the brim of her hat down. She listened as he shared the plans for the bank robbery Hosea and Dutch were planning. He was planning on getting them all killed.

“Shhhit,” she muttered as the drunk patron next to her fumbled and fell off his stool, drawing every eye in the establishment – including Micah’s. She made herself scarce, ducking out a side door. Micah cornered her in the alley a moment later, knowing what she had seen, what she had heard.

“Oooh, pretty lady,” he teased, a smile slithering across his leathery features. “I’ve been wanting an excuse to do this,” he told her, catching her and pinning her against the wall. For a split second, that awful night came rushing back. Gunshots and grabbing hands and breath hot against her cheek as she was pinned down, violated. Micah grabbed her jaw, his other hand squeezing her thigh as he made an appreciative noise in his throat. “I’m gonna do all the things I wanted to that night we found you and more. And then I’m gonna slit your throat,” he rasped, teeth clenched in a nasty smirk. She swallowed, her heart pounding. Drawing a gun with Pinkertons just inside was suicide. She would have to defend herself quietly.

Sadie remembered what Arthur had taught her.

“If you find yourself pinned, the first thing to do is incapacitate your attacker. Use the hard parts of you. Your heel, your elbow, your knee, whatever, and use ‘em against somethin’ soft, somethin’ breakable.” He had taken her elbow, guided it to his throat, taken her heel and pressed it against the delicate bone of the top of his foot. He’d briefly pressed her knee to his groin. “Ain’t no honor when it come to defendin’ yourself. You hit fast, and you hit hard. God can sort the rest out,” he had told her.

Micah was too busy groping her to notice that she had clenched, prepared to destroy him. Her elbow slammed into his neck, then her knee into his groin. He crumpled slightly, but he was still upright.

“Shit,” she cried again, changing her stance to the one she had practiced hundreds of times.

“Oh, you’re going to regret that, missy,” Micah promised, slamming his fist into her cheek and then reaching for his knife. He lunged for her and she twisted away. Arthur had taught her that too:

“A good fighter ain’t gonna broadcast where he’s goin’. But most men, especially when they’re tryin’ to take advantage of a woman, they ain’t good fighters. You watch their eyes, that’s where they’re headed. You make sure you ain’t there when they get there. Get behind ‘em. Now, once you’re behind ‘em, that ain’t the time to attack. That’s the time to run. It might feel good to get a last lick in, but if you’re trying to get yourself safe, the most important thing to do is get away. Period. So you run. And you don’t look back.”

Well.

Just because Sadie knew what to do didn’t mean she would do it. This man had made a terrible night worse, had been responsible for burning her house down, was responsible for all the awful things the gang – and by extension Arthur – had endured. He was a rat, a bastard, an attempted rapist. Pulling her knife from her sheath faster than Micah could turn, she kicked the back of his knee, knocking him solidly to the ground. Her hand slid around his throat and pulled the blade across it, hot blood flowing over her fingers, drenching the handle of her knife. Micah gurgled, grasped at her one more time, and then slumped to the ground, dead. Sadie panted, her eyes wide, her hands covered in sticky, metallic-smelling blood. Micah was dead. There were just a few more men she wanted dead and then…and then.

\-----

"Are you alright?” Arthur breathed, staring at Sadie. Her hands were still covered in blood, but it was dry now. Dutch had interrogated her, initially disbelieving that Micah had betrayed him. Micah had spent so much time blowing smoke up Dutch’s ass that he nearly refused to believe what Sadie told him. When, at last, he was done with her, Arthur pulled her aside, inviting her into his room so they could have privacy.

“I’m fine, Arthur.”

“Your cheek,” he breathed, thumbing the bruised flesh. She smiled slightly, covered his hand on her cheek with her own.

“It’s fine, Arthur.”

“Sadie…” he began. It had been weeks since they’d talked, weeks since it had been just the two of them and now, in the quiet of the evening with no one else between them…

“I’m alive because of you, Arthur. And that bastard is gone because of you.”

“Nearly done with your unfinished business,” he pointed out, his hand still on her cheek. She stared up at him.

“No. No, I’ve got a lot of unfinished business, Arthur,” she said softly. Arthur leaned in close, staring at her lips. “The men who killed my husband. The men who…the rest of the O’Driscolls,” she murmured. “Colm especially. I know where they are. I need someone to ride with me. I hear they’re holed up at Hanging Dog Ranch. We clear out that camp, we can take it over. It’s secluded. A good place to regroup. Will you come with me?” Arthur leaned back, removing his hand from her cheek. That clearly hadn’t been what he was expecting her to say.

“You want to take on Colm O’Driscoll and all his men? Sadie, you saw what they did to that poor bastard Kieran.”

“Forgive me if you don’t see me weeping over his death,” she said dryly. She had never quite forgiven the simpering man for being present the night of her attack. Arthur sighed.

“We gotta round up a posse, Sadie.”

“No. We’ll have more luck going in quiet. You know I’m right.” Arthur chuckled softly.

“You’ve got a deathwish,” he muttered. Sadie scoffed.

“I wish for a lot of things, Arthur. But I ain’t wishin’ for death. Not no more.” He swallowed.

“Sadie, I…”

“Just think about it, please?”

“Of course.” The day’s events finally crept up on her, finally overwhelmed her now that she was safe. The adrenaline from the attack, the stress of being interrogated, and now, this warmth, this softness from Arthur.

“Arthur,” she whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Will you hold me?” He frowned for a moment.

“You shoar?”

“Please.” He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her, letting her nuzzle her face into his chest to hide a sheen of tears. One of his hands cupped the back of her head.

“You’re alright,” he told her, and she realized she was sobbing suddenly, realized all this pent up rage and hatred and hurt hadn’t ever been let out. She let herself cry in the safety of his embrace and then struggled against him, stepping back, wiping a sleeve across her nose. His shirt was wet with her tears and snot.

“Sorry,” she muttered.

“You ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry for,” Arthur told her, reaching out a hand slowly and tucking a strand of hair behind her cheek, his thumb smearing away another tear that managed to escape her eye.

“Shouldn’t be blubbering like…”

“Like a woman?” he asked, amusement in his tone. She laughed at that.

“Yeah,” she said, chagrined. She looked up at him.

“Thank you. For everything you taught me, Arthur.” He stared at her by the light of the moon pouring into the dingy window.

“Sadie?”

“Yeah, Arthur?”

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, his voice almost too soft to hear.

“Yes,” she breathed, surprised at her own answer. Arthur leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss on her lips, his own soft, but framed with sharp stubble. Sadie winced back.

“Sorry, I – I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

“No,” she said, and she grabbed his bandana, pulling him close again, kissing him more deeply. Arthur let out a soft moan, his eyes sliding closed, his hand behind her head threading fingers into her hair, not tangling in it, just holding it. His frame softened and he leaned back, pulling her closer, letting her invade his space instead of the other way around. In the stillness of the night, feeling vulnerable and lonely, Sadie pushed him back and he let her, the backs of his knees hitting the edge of his bed, letting her put him on his back. She sat atop him, grinding against him, kissing him and tugging at his clothing.

It had been nearly six months since her ordeal and tonight was the first time she felt she wanted this, wanted him. He made her feel powerful. The way he looked up at her, as though she was the only thing important in the world, stirred a fire in her belly.

Arthur let himself be a puddle beneath her, compliant and willing to give her whatever she wanted. He had not imagined that a woman could want a man after suffering the abuse she had, but he realized she was taking her power here, assuring herself that she was in control of her body, that she was _choosing_ this. He panted, knowing that he was growing hard, the swelling uncomfortable in his pants, but he was uncertain if she would want this in its entirety, or if she just wanted intimacy, closeness. His question was answered as she reached down and unbuttoned his fly and his underwear, pulling her own pants off and tossing them aside.

“You shoar this is what you want?” he whispered.

“Hush,” she ordered, and he obeyed, letting her slide his pants down off his hips and tossing them aside. Her mouth engulfed his own, her tongue forcing its way past his teeth, pressing his own tongue back and down, dominating him. He growled low and deep in his throat. He had wanted this for months, wanted her. Many a lonely night he had recalled how it felt when she took control when he was teaching her, shoving him to the ground, holding a knife to his throat, or her arm around his neck in a chokehold. Many a lonely night he had stroked himself to the thought of Sadie taking what she wanted.

Tonight was not a lonely night. Sadie sheathed Arthur within her with a throaty moan, her muscles clenching around him, making him whimper softly at the overwhelming warmth and tightness and pleasure of it. He put his hands on her hips, but she shoved them away. She caught herself, realizing how gruff the motion had been.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Arthur told her, breathless. She leaned down and kissed him, her hips moving up and down, pulling soft moans and gasps from Arthur. “Can I touch you?”

“Please,” she answered. His hands sought and caressed her breasts through her blouse, finding and rolling her nipples between his fingers until they stood aroused and sensitive, drawing a raspy groan from Sadie’s throat. His hands roamed back down, gentle and needy, holding her waist as she moved, then experimentally trying to rest on her hips again. This time she allowed it. She rolled them so that Arthur was on top of her and she looked up at him breathlessly, her heart thumping hard in her chest.

Arthur held his weight up on elbows and knees, making sure she didn’t feel pinned beneath his weight. Her hands kneaded his buttocks, pressing him into her insistently.

“Arthur,” she whined, and he knew what she was asking. He thrust into her, his hips rolling upwards to sink himself as deeply as he could go. He kissed her cheek, her neck, her chest, moaning as her fingers sank into the soft skin and fat of his ass, as her hips rose to meet his own. Sharp fingernails scratched down his back, leaving red marks, and he half-bellowed at the stinging, pleasurable sensation, not caring, for the moment, if anyone could hear them through the thin plantation house walls.

Leaning back, Arthur slid his legs behind Sadie’s ass, pulling her own so they were locked at the ankles behind his back, letting her rock in his lap, his chin bumping hers, his eyes intense, more blue than green in the cool light of the half-full moon. She slid up and down in his lap, bracing herself on his shoulder, taking her pleasure from him. He reached a hand down, his thumb pressing against the hard nub at the front of her slit, rolling it against the soft flower petal skin there until Sadie threw her head back and let out a sound of satisfaction as she clenched around him. He gritted his teeth.

“Dammit,” he muttered. “I’m close,” he warned. Sadie slid off him.

“Not yet, you ain’t,” she told him, palming his cock in her hand. She pulled the ribbon that held her braid from her hair and tied it tightly, but not too tight, around the base of his dick.

“What the hell is you doin’?” he mumbled, a little protective of his proudest parts.

“Just relax.” She climbed back atop him, shoving him back down. Sadie draped herself over him, reaching a hand between his legs to caress his balls, palming briefly over his cock. She bit his shoulders and then kissed the mark she had made, running her fingernails over his chest as she ground herself on his thigh. She grabbed Arthur’s arms and bound them with her turquoise scarf, tying them to the head of the rickety cot’s frame. Arthur watched her, both amused and aroused.

“What are you doin’?” he asked again.

“Takin’ what I want,” she admitted, arching an eyebrow. “And enjoyin’ the view.” Arthur wriggled beneath her, his cock waving comically.

“You ever see one of them prairie dogs pokin’ up outta their burrow?”

“Shut up,” Sadie laughed, that scratchy voice of hers sending another jolt of desire through Arthur. He smiled up at her, his chest warm.

“You’re beautiful, Sadie.” She huffed.

“That ain’t want I want to hear,” she groused. Arthur hummed.

“You’re strong. Strongest woman I ever met. And I met some strong women.”

“That’s more like it,” she purred, and to reward him, she sank back onto him, riding him with fast, shallow motions that had him panting. She took her pleasure again and again, clamping around his flesh. At last, she pulled the end of the ribbon and removed it from his cock. He gasped and then grabbed at her hips when she untied his arms. “Take what you want,” she whispered in his ear and a growl rumbled through him.

“You shoar?”

“You ain’t gonna break me,” she assured him. He flipped them, Sadie’s torso leaning over the mattress, her feet on the floor. Arthur rammed into her from behind, bracing her hips as he thrust into her urgently, one hand grabbing her falling braid, pulling her head back so he could murmur in her ear.

“The things you’ve been doin’ to me. That voice. Them hands. You’re strong. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise, darlin’,” he whispered, kissing her temple as he pressed himself within her. “Do you like this?” he asked her.

“Harder,” she moaned and Arthur felt his legs nearly go out from under him at that command.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and he obeyed.

“Harder!” Sadie cried.

“Yes, ma’am!” Their skin slapped together in the darkness, their pants and moans nearly swallowed by the roar of insect and frog song outside, but Arthur had to imagine that at least a few of the gang members had to clamp their hands over their ears to drown out Sadie’s wails of pleasure as he did as she commanded, his knees going weak, his thighs burning, but still he plowed on, having not been given permission to stop. “Sadie, I,” he panted, feeling his flesh pulsing, fighting hard not to climax. Sadie pushed him away and he bit his bottom lip so hard he drew blood. He needed to orgasm. The head of his cock was oversensitive and his balls ached. “Please,” he begged.

Clambering onto the bed, Sadie pushed him down beside her and then climbed atop him again, sinking up and down upon his overstimulated flesh. She met his eyes.

“You ready?” she asked him.

“Yes,” he growled.

“Good,” she said, scratching her fingernails down the inside of his thighs. With a loud moan, Arthur clenched, feeling himself begin to climax. Sadie pulled off him, making him spill himself all over his belly and chest as she watched.

“Ffffffuck,” Arthur groaned, blinking rapidly as fried nerves settled and then jolted again as though electricity had been poured through them. Blowing out a hard breath, he grabbed Sadie’s scarf, but her hand was on his wrist in an instant.

“Don’t you dare, Arthur Morgan.”

“You gonna stop me?” he challenged, bringing the cloth closer to the mess on his belly and chest.

“Yes, I am,” she said, pinching down on the sensitive point on his wrist that he had showed her.

“Shit,” he whined, dropping her scarf. She grabbed it professionally and tugged his bandana from his neck, using it to wipe his chest before he could object. “Ugh,” he groaned, his lip curling in disgust.

“It’s your mess,” she laughed, tossing the dirty cloth at him. He flicked it aside.

“Come ‘ere,” he ordered, pulling her down so he could kiss her again. They pulled off the remainder of their clothing and curled into one another. The night was warm, so they didn’t bother with blankets.

Arthur laid beside her, remembering all the times their bodies had been pressed closely in combat, all the times she had proven herself capable, strong. Beautiful. In the stillness of the night, her fingers laced into his. His knuckle bumped her wedding ring, but she seemed not to notice.

“Given anymore thought to going with me to kill them O’Driscolls?” Sadie asked as he lit a cigarette. He barked a laugh.

“Ain’t had enough sense in my brain in the past hours to have time to think about anything but you,” he pointed out with a smirk. “But yeah. Yeah, I reckon I’ll ride with you, Sadie.”

In the morning, Sadie was gone, so Arthur dressed and clambered downstairs to find her. He passed John on his way.

“Good night last night, Arthur?” he teased. Arthur glared.

“Shut it, Marston.”

“Sadie said she’s waitin’ for you. Wants you, me and Charles to come along. Heard a rumor we’re going after the O’Driscolls.”

“Yeah, it’s a rumor I don’t want Dutch overhearin’, so watch your mouth,” Arthur grumbled. Too late. He saw the delighted look on Dutch’s face, saw the irritated one on Hosea’s as they approached with Sadie.

“Finally decided to drag yourself out of bed, Arthur?” Sadie asked him, eyes twinkling. He smirked.

“Had a hard day’s work yesterday,” he pointed out.

“Far be it from me to interrupt you two lovebirds, but I hear we have some O’Driscolls to deal with,” Hosea interrupted.

“That we do, my friend, that we do,” Dutch purred, clearly over any remorse he might have felt for Micah’s death. He looked at Sadie with genuine affection. “Mrs. Adler here has managed to send out some feelers, found out where they’re stayin’. And now we’re going to put an end to them.” Arthur’s face faltered at Dutch’s use of her married name. He swallowed, unsure where they stood with one another after last night. Sadie met his eyes, frowned slightly. She reached for his hand, squeezed it.

“You alright, Arthur?” she asked him. He smiled, his own fingers laced into hers tightening their grip.

“I am now. Come on. Let’s get this done.”


	3. Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Sadie get their revenge before everything changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: brief mention/flashback of rape scene  
> CW: description of Arthur being tortured  
> CW: gore  
> CW: blood

It was a massacre, plain and simple.

The Van Der Linde gang slaughtered the O'Driscolls, who never suspected that anyone would have patiently watched and waited for a full day and a half, staring through his scope until his eyes watered. Arthur had done it for Sadie, his shoulders aching, his belly cold from lying on the muddy ground across the valley from the ranch. The other gang members had waited for word from him, camping a mile or so down the road in the woods. He stared, noting the schedule of guard patrols, jotting down descriptions of which men carried rifles in addition to their sidearms, taking stock of which ones smoked and which ones drank, which ones patrolled with a stiff back and alert eyes, and which ones slumped, padding back and forth lazily. He sketched out a rough map of the ranch, making special care to draw all the windows and doors, marking a dark X where he had spotted a Gatling gun poking out from the hay door of the barn.

Arthur returned to Sadie and the others, shivering with cold, his whole body aching from remaining still for so long. It was worth it for her touch, light and warm against his arm. Only Abigail, Lenny and Uncle had stayed behind from this mission to defend Shady Belle and to make sure little Jack still had a parent if things went to shit, so the rest of the gang were gathered eagerly, waiting to hear the results of Arthur's recognizance.

"You look about ready to fall over, Arthur. Sit down," Sadie beckoned, and he obeyed wordlessly, humming a soft grunt of half-pleasure, half-pain as she kneaded her fingers into the taut balls of his shoulder muscles.

"What did you find, son?" Dutch demanded, ever impatient. Cracking his neck with a hiss of pain, Arthur gave up his journal to the gang leader and he and Hosea went over it, flipping through the maps and diagrams and notes.

"This is good, Arthur, real good," Hosea assured him with a proud pat to his broad shoulder. "Right here's where we oughta start. A couple more of us right there," he pointed, leaving a faint fingerprint on the paper. "Once it gets good and dark, I'm thinkin'. If they're followin' the same watches, that one who smokes like a chimney will be right here. Charles, can you take him out silent if you can see the cherry of his cigar?"

"Won't be a problem," the big man intoned in his quiet voice.

"Good. Now here, John, there's a big Gatling gun here. We'll need it taken out quick or they'll mow us all down before we can get any farther. I want you to sneak in there after we clear these three guards, plant some dynamite, then move down to here..." Arthur listened intently as plans were made, Hosea and Dutch occasionally bickering over some detail or other, and at last, as the sun set slowly and then all at once over the mountains, they approached the ranch, leaving their horses out of sight in the nearby forest.

They moved in under the cool cover of darkness, nearly everyone with guns in their hands, though a few held sticks of dynamite or knives, and Charles had his largest bow in his hands, wicked, backwards hooked points jutting from his custom-made arrows.

One by one, they slaughtered Colm's men, working their way deeper into the ranch. Dutch shouting hoarsely for his one-time friend and now nemesis to come out once most of the ranch was cleared. Colm was the last person on Sadie's mind as she searched the faces of their enemies.

When she found _him_ , the man who had haunted her dreams for months, it was with Arthur at her back. He stepped around her, leveling one of his massive Volcanic pistols at the man's face. She grabbed Arthur's arm, jerking it down. He stared and in the midst of Arthur's surprise the man lifted a gun, only to have Sadie shoot it from his hand.

"This one's _mine,"_ Sadie declared, her voice trembling with barely-contained rage. The fat, unwashed O'Driscoll's face paled and she knew that he had recognized her. Like the terrible goddess Persephone, Sadie descended on him, her fist burying itself in the front of his shirt and around the wobbling folds of his neck, forcing him up, no life in her eyes, only death. She was not the goddess of spring, but of hell, of doom. In her eyes shone his ending. He scrambled like a newborn deer, stumbling, and Sadie's shoulders ached with the weight of him.

Ached with the weight of him like her legs had when he had pinned her. Her eyes watered, just as they had when she had heard him laugh and say,

"Hey boys, we got a live one! Might as well have some _fun."_ It was his idea. He went first. Her mouth opened in a screech of rage as she rammed the back of his head into the cabin wall. Behind her, she dimly heard Arthur say something, but the only thing she could focus on were the piggish, rasping breaths coming from the man, these ones, tinted with fear, nearly the same cadence as the breaths he had sucked in next to her ear while he sought pleasure in her misery.

Sadie stood, one hand on the man's throat, the other on her gun. Her shoulders heaved and Arthur watched her, his heart pounded, prepared for anything. Prepared for her to go feral and murder them all, him included, but equally prepared to end this man if she succumbed to her trauma and could not or would not finish him on her own.

"Sadie," he said gently.

"Just...give me a minute, Arthur," she said roughly, and he could tell she was gathering herself. The man she was holding captive opened his mouth, addressing Arthur in a pleading tone.

"Please, mister, I'll do anything! She's crazy, we didn't do nothin' you wouldn't have done, please!" A deep, rattling growl issued forth from Arthur's throat, the Hades to Sadie's Persephone.

"We don't _rape_ women, you sick son-of-a-bitch," he forced out, his hands on his own guns trembling with rage, remembering another woman ruined and killed by men like him. He remembered hearing what had happened to Eliza all those years ago, remembered the sick feeling in his stomach when he realized that it had happened to her because he had not been there to protect her. Arthur took three steps forward and Sadie turned on him, fire in her eyes.

 _"He's mine,"_ she repeated, her jaw clenched, her teeth bared at him and he found his head bowing in reverence to her. She turned back to her victim, surveying his face. "I could _ruin you,"_ she told him, quoting some of his own words back to him, her voice trembling with fury. "I could bring you hell on earth," she assured him further, tucking the barrel of her gun deep in the man's groin and he whimpered. "But I ain't like you," she finished, moving her gun from his groin to his temple and squeezing the trigger.

Blood and brain matter splattered Sadie's hand and face in a shower of gore. The big man fell, instantly dead. Sadie stepped back, wiping her cheek and forehead with her scarf, but it merely spread the mess, painting her as though in preparation for war. Arthur swallowed when she turned to him, true, overwhelming fear coiled in his gut. She was terrifying.

She was beautiful.

"Darlin'," he began, but it felt wrong on his tongue, felt too small a moniker for the deity standing before him. She blinked, and was human again.

"Arthur," she said softly, her voice breaking.

"Come 'ere, beautiful," he breathed, and she collapsed into his arms.

Trauma, upon trauma, upon trauma.

They weren't done.

"Arthur! Get out here!" Dutch called. Arthur didn't move a muscle. His allegiance had shifted to something greater.

"I'm here, darlin'," he assured Sadie as she shook herself apart and then put herself back together within his embrace. "Long as you need." She looked up at him, sniffling.

"You better go."

"Not without your say-so," he told her, thumbing her chin gently. Sadie pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

"Go on. We ain't done yet."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Now, look at what we have here," Dutch announced with delight in his tone, gesturing wildly for Arthur to join him in rejoicing. "A fish on a line."

Colm O'Driscoll hung by his ankles from the lift of the barn, thrashing, spitting and cursing all of them in turn. He had been stripped of all his clothes except his union suit and was suffering the hateful glances of all the gathered outlaws.

Sadie turned to Arthur for a moment, and it was her turn to wait, to see what he wanted to do, how he wanted to proceed. Dutch kept setting Colm spinning, cackling with the other gang members as Hosea looked on with a neutral expression, a cigarette hanging from one side of his mouth.

"Arthur, you all right?" he asked. Arthur's face had grown still. Solemn. The gathered gang members quieted a bit as they all looked at him. None of them, none save Sadie, had ever heard all that was done to Arthur during the time he had been captured.

Arthur ran though the torture in his mind.

_A gun barrel slammed into his face. Being slung, woozy and with an aching head over the back of someone's horse once his weapons were stripped from him and his arms tied together behind his back, his shoulders aching. The dull sense of relief when he came to his senses and realized they were too stupid to bind his legs. The sharp sense of fear when he realized he was surrounded by men who wished him nothing but pain and misery._

_"Well, hey there, sweetheart!" purred in a way that made his blood run cold._

_Overhearing their plan to draw Dutch out. Terror, plain, simple terror that his family would be captured with him as bait. Rolling and scrambling to his feet, running with desperate strides over rough ground, one eye swollen shut, his head pounding. A gunshot to the side of his leg. Dropping. Falling._

_"Did I kill ya?"_

_"Ugh," a long groan of agony at the burn in his thigh and the pounding in his head. "Not yet." Kicks rammed freely into his sides and his legs, filthy boots slamming into him from every side. Cradling his head toward his chest, his hands still tied behind his back, unable to defend himself. Being forced into the ground, a gun barrel held to his shoulder. A sudden, deafening roar of gunfire and the heat and stench of burning cotton and blood from his shoulder. Agony. A warbling scream emanating from his own throat. Slung over horseback again, crying out with every hoof beat, feeling thirsty, hungry, exhausted and everywhere, everywhere, in every molecule of his body - pain._

_Yanked from horseback. Colm's hard voice._

_"Strip him." Laughter. His boots tugged from his feet roughly, his pants jerked off, his shirt torn from him. The unwanted caress of a hand against his ass. "Enough of that, Patrick, you feckin' pervert."_

_Manacles, binding his ankles. Shrieking in pain as someone jostled his shoulder, spluttering as someone relieved themselves on his face. The bindings of his hands were cut free and he held them up to shield his face from the stream of stinking urine, his ears burning with the cackles of the man who was voiding himself all over him. He had lashed out, trying to grab the man by the leg using his uninjured arm, but he found himself suddenly tugged backwards by the ankles, metal digging into the tops of his bare feet. His view shifted and he scratched at the ground, realizing he was being yanked down a set of cellar stairs. Several of the men watched with uncomfortable interest as Arthur was drug into the cellar, his fingernails ripping as he scrabbled for purchase on the stairs. Someone shoved a cloth bag over his head and he wheezed, trying to breathe through the coarse, stinking material._

_Manacles dug into the tops of his feet as he was hauled upwards, hung by his ankles from a beam._

_"Ain't so tough now, are ya, Morgan?"_

_"Look at him, floppin' around like a fish," another cackled, someone kicking him in the belly as they drug him upwards by his legs. Arthur thrashed, letting out a sob of pain as a foot connected with his shoulder. It started oozing again, blood dripping from it and splashing to the ground below him. A hand touched his thigh and he bleated in terror and rage._

_"Get your hands offa me!" There was another evil chuckle and then the sound of a gun being cocked. The hand on Arthur's thigh was removed immediately._

_"I said 'enough.' Get outta here. Let's let him bleed for a while, boys," Colm ordered._

_Arthur hung, the blood rushing to his head, shushing loudly behind his ears with every laborious beat of his heart. He held a hand up to the gunshot in his shoulder, allowing himself a small whimper once he tore at the hood on his head and realized that he was alone._

_"Bastards," he gasped out, everything hurting. After long hours, or perhaps it was only minutes - time meant nothing hung upside down in darkness - Arthur felt his bladder begin to ache, the need to piss sending shame through him. He held it, determined not to have to urinate on himself. He smelled enough of urine from the most recent attack. His nose wrinkled with the sour stench of it and he squirmed, trying to find escape. If he could just reach his ankles... His abdomen wrenched as he tried to no avail to grab at the length of rope holding the manacles to the beam. Something shifted in his shoulder and he felt suddenly light-headed, suddenly woozy...his vision darkened until there was only a dim point in the center and then..._

_Darkness._

_Dim awakening to Colm O'Driscoll prodding him, taunting him. Nearly choking him to death with stew served to him upside down. But it was enough...the gulp of food into his struggling gullet gave him strength, half-fueled by hatred. Colm had left him with a grim chuckle, thinking he had won._

_No one threatened Arthur's family and won. He lunged for a file left carelessly nearby, cutting through the rope and landing in a heap, fighting back a scream of pain as his shoulder ached. He scuttled across the room, waiting for the guard to wander down, broke his neck. He cauterized his shoulder with a cartridge left behind in the cellar, nearly breaking his teeth he had his jaw clenched so hard to silence himself. He snuck out of the cellar, nearly slipping in his own blood. Grabbing his things, he slit the throats of each O'Driscoll he encountered until he found his horse, spurring it away with bare feet, thanking his stars the horse worked for him despite his lack of spurs._

_"Take me home, boah," he had urged him, waiting for a shot in the back to end him. But he had made it. And Dutch had hardly acknowledged the sacrifice he had made, merely expressing relief that they hadn't been caught in the trap. Arthur remembered, his chest aching with having to ask,_

_"You were comin' for me, right, Dutch?" and that cold, emotionless look from nearly reptilian dark eyes before, finally,_

_"Of course."_

But Arthur knew better than to believe him.

Sadie was staring at him, waiting for a cue, waiting to provide whatever he needed, knowing he was broken too. Knowing he needed to put himself back together the way she had. She knew that he would never show this weakness, never cry or moan about what was done to him, but she could see it in his eyes like a shard of glass, sharp and dangerous.

Dutch was too busy taunting Colm to pay any attention to the heaving of Arthur's chest, to the shaking of his hands as he wallowed in his trauma, as he too, relived his moments as a victim, as someone who had power stripped from them. It was time to give him that power back. In a single, fluid motion, Sadie offered Arthur her knife, knowing he needed the closure than only death could provide. He took it woodenly, stomping toward Colm like an automaton and slid it across his throat in a swift, definitive motion.

"For God's sake, Arthur!" Dutch squawked, and all gathered could tell that Dutch seemed somehow robbed by this action, felt that it was something he had earned, not Arthur. But Arthur had bled for this. His blue eyes met Dutch's brown ones with a frosty glare, Colm's blood dripping from his hand.

"Thought we was better than him, Dutch. We ain't got no need to torment a man."

"We coulda taken him in, Arthur. We could have..." Dutch spluttered, trying to think of a reason why he should have been allowed to torture Colm aside from pure vile want for revenge. Arthur shrugged, wiping the knife thoughtlessly, the blood on his hands soaking into the handkerchief he was using.

"Still can. Nobody knows Sadie. She could turn him in, bring us the money." He turned to her, and she gave a subtle nod. "I'll load him on your horse, darlin'," he told her softly, handing her back her knife.

"Arthur," she began, stopping him with a hand on his arm. "Are you okay?" He met her eye, smiled slightly.

"Reckon I will be once this business is done." Dutch, meanwhile, was bellowing with disgust, Hosea trying in vain to calm him down.

"Hey Dutch," called Javier, interrupting his furious tirade. "Think you're gonna want to see this."

The rest of the gang followed the sound of his voice, approaching where he had poked his head out of one of the cabins.

Arthur used the distraction to turn to Sadie.

"You could bring us the money....or you could just take off on your own. Go your own way. Get away from this life," he said, a bitter edge to his tone. Sadie's face softened and she extended a hand tenderly, cupping his cheek. He closed his eyes hard and tipped his chin down as though he felt he didn't deserve her touch.

"Arthur. Look at me." He obeyed. "I ain't goin' nowhere without you." Arthur's brows rose and before he could respond, there was the sound of ecstatic whooping.

"Best go see what other kinda trouble Dutch has found for us," Sadie griped, moving her hand from Arthur's cheek to take his hand. The blood on their fingers blended, a pact between them. Sadie met his eyes one last time, squeezed his fingers, and then stepped into the house with him following close behind.

Sadie and Arthur descended through a cellar door that jutted up out of the floor and followed the excited sounds down. Javier was holding something, as was Dutch and everyone standing there looked dumbfounded. Arthur took a closer look at the heavy object in Dutch's ringed hand. It was a solid gold bullion brick. There were dozens of them, all stacked neatly.

"My god," Dutch muttered, "this is...this is enough for anything. Everything. Boys! We're goin' to Tahiti!" he declared, his voice cracking in his excitement. Amid the grins and whoops, Sadie met Arthur's eye.

They were the only two not smiling.


	4. Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sadie has a plan and Hosea makes sure it happens and it fixes everything, please ignore the terrible plot holes I couldn't think of anything better >_<

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Oral sex  
> CW: Fingering  
> CW: Anal fingering  
> CW: Prostate massage

If Sadie had known it was the last time she would be making love to Arthur Morgan, she might have done things differently. She might not have stripped his clothing from him impatiently, might not have forced him onto his back, might not have been so rough with him. She might not have bitten the side of his neck and forced a whimper from him as she pressed a finger within him, giving man a taste of his own medicine in the form of an exploratory finger. She had never put any part of herself inside of a man before, and it made her gasp with power, made her vision go bright as her eyes dilated with lust at the sight of Arthur squirming beneath her, his big thighs spread wide to accommodate her hand, his cock bobbing against his belly and his balls hanging heavily above her hand as he let her do whatever she wanted to him. He had sucked in a stuttering breath as she took his stiff cock into her mouth, sucking and licking at him as her finger wiggled inside of him, reveling in the feeling of tight warmth around her digit. 

"Does that feel good?" she had asked in a breathy voice, and Arthur had moaned and nodded. She added another finger and his toes curled as something between a grunt and a whimper was punched out of him. She adjusted her position so that she was nearly sitting on his face, pleasuring him with her hands and mouth as he did the same to her around spluttered commentary on what she was doing to him with her finger. 

"Jesus...Sadie...that...I...what the hell are you...oh Christ," he whimpered, keeping up a cacophony of small sounds and stuttered words, her grinding herself against his lips and rough stubble as she worked him up with her own mouth and hands, taking power from someone who offered it to her freely. They both needed this. She needed the opportunity to seize control, he needed the chance to show the trust he put in her as she perched on his willing mouth. 

But still. If she had known it was the last time she would be making love to Arthur, she would have been gentler. Would have taken more time, pressed kisses to the insides of his fuzzy thighs, would have nuzzled and nipped at the place where his leg met his thick torso. She would have slowed the frenetic pace of her fingers within him and wouldn't have made him climax all over his belly while gripped in her hand. She wouldn't have pressed her wet slit so forcefully against his lips, wouldn't have nearly suffocated him with her thighs and buttocks as she had her way with him, her groin pressed to his mouth as her mouth engulfed his cock. 

But how rarely does anyone know that it is, indeed, the last time they will be making love to someone? 

The next morning, Arthur was sore, the place between his legs a little abused by Sadie's wild experimentation, but it was, nonetheless, a good kind of pain, the kind that reminded him that he was hers and she was his. But still. There were things that needed to be done, and she needed to get gone. He told her as much as she prepared her horse to turn Colm's corpse in. After two days of sitting out in the dull winter sun, it was beginning to stink and flies buzzed lazily around the wrapped body, irritating Sadie’s horse. The rest of the gang was bustling about, excited over their victory and the gold they had claimed as their own. A fair few of them were working on loading the bullion into one of the wagons that had been brought up, while still others made preparations for creating a new camp here, their breath coming in clouds in the cold air. Winter was back again. 

Though there were high spirits in the gang, Dutch had slid from his wild excitement and slumped back into a frenetic state, planning, arguing with Hosea. No, he didn’t want to go to Tahiti after all, not when this money could solve _everything._ But it _couldn’t_ solve everything. There was still the matter of the Pinkertons, of Cornwall and every other person they had robbed and swindled. Arthur was worried. This gold, it both simplified and complicated things. 

"Get on outta here, Sadie," Arthur breathed, pulling her close for a moment, kissing her forehead. She jerked back. 

"Why did you say it like that?" she asked, frowning. Arthur scowled. 

"I want better for you than this life. This gold...I don't know what it's going to make Dutch do, and I don't want you sticking around to find out. You turn in Colm, take the money for him and don’t come back here," he begged her, his chest burning with pain even as he did so. Sadie huffed a soft breath, her eyes going hard in the light of the setting sun. 

"So you just want me gone? After all of that? After I already told you I didn’t want to leave you?" Arthur forced a breath out through his nostrils, clenched his jaw hard enough his teeth squeaked. 

"No, that...that ain't what I'm sayin', but we need to sort things out, figure out what we're gonna do next. This life...it ain't right for you, Sadie." She blinked and clenched her jaw. Arthur knew now that he had chosen his words poorly. Sadie pulled her lips tight within her mouth in an expression of deep irritation. She relaxed her expression and blinked at him, the set of her jaw telling him she was beyond fury and into rage. He swallowed and before he could backpedal, Sadie spoke. 

"So now you're tellin' me how to live my life?" she asked him, her tone going dangerous. He reached out a hand, cupped her cheek, but she leaned away from the touch. 

"I'll clear up this mess, and I'll come find you," he promised. As always. A man making the decisions, making her choices for her. She frowned, her lip curling. 

"Don't bother, Arthur." She reached down and cut a rope and Colm O'Driscoll's body slid from her saddle with a thump. He was expecting her to storm off, to leave, furious, but accepting that she didn’t belong here, didn’t belong with him. Instead, she surprised him, as she often did. She fired her gun straight in the air, drawing the attention of all the gang members. Bill Williamson dropped a brick of gold onto his toe and let out a pained screech, but everyone else was silent, waiting. "Now that I have your attention,” Sadie began. “It seems to me that I should be the one who gets the say on what happens with this gold. I’ve heard you talkin’. Dutch, plannin’ another scam, another run. You never really did want to settle down, did you?” she challenged, meeting his dark eyes where he approached, a cigar perched precariously between his forefingers. “But all we really need is to get gone, and with all that gold, hell, we could each take our share and go on our own merry way. See, it seems to me that what we have here is...what you might call 'a rare opportunity.'" 

With that, she gave Colm’s body a swift kick and looked significantly toward the piled bodies of the dead gang they had defeated, which were also beginning to stink. 

A wide, mischievous grin split Hosea’s face. He was already seeing where she was going with this plan as Arthur just stared, adoring and dumbfounded and without any clue what Sadie was driving at. Arthur turned to look at her, his brows furrowed. 

“She’s right, Dutch.” Hosea gestured toward the pile of O'Driscolls. "There's more than enough bodies here to make it look like we died in a good old-fashioned gang shootout.” He raised a brow at Dutch. “You’re going to have to give up those damn rings of yours, Dutch.” He turned to everyone else. “And when we’re done setting up this con,” he reached down and grabbed a gold brick, “I think I’d like to see Australia before I die. What do you say, Dutch?” 

For a long, long moment, it appeared that Dutch was going to argue, maybe even pull his weapon. Instead, he looked at his followers, sighed. With Hosea backing Sadie’s sudden mutiny, he had to at least consider the suggestion. 

“Is that what you really want, old friend?” 

“I do. Look, I haven't got much longer in this world. A few of these fellas are too dumb or too misguided to go out on their own and do something better, but Arthur...John...Lenny...they're all young. There's a choice, Dutch. There's always a choice.” Hosea reached over, gently took Dutch’s hand. “My friend. My darling Dutch...we don’t always have to fight. Please.” Dutch looked down at his toes for a moment, pulled his hand from Hosea’s so he could place both of his big fists on his hips. 

“How about the rest of you?” he asked, his tone a little accusatory. 

“I’m with you, Dutch, wherever you go,” Bill insisted, his face gone nasty. The was a long pause, and Tilly Jackson stepped forward, her hands held together in front of her in a timid movement, but her eyes were sharp. 

“Now, I reckon I owe you quite a lot, Mr. Van der Linde, but...I never meant to stay here. I’d like to have a life. A family.” Abigail stood now, her hand on Jack’s head. She resolutely ignored John’s presence nearby, meeting Dutch’s gaze and speaking with a shaking voice. 

“A family and some peace is all most of us want, Dutch,” she said, looking down at Jack when she had finished. John stepped forward, put an arm around her waist. 

“She’s right, Dutch. I’m tired of runnin’. Of stirrin’ up trouble with the law.” 

“This is all you have ever known, _amigo,_ but some of us...we don’t have the luxury of leaving this life,” Javier pointed out softly, giving John a harsh look. 

“We can each get what we want, now, Dutch,” Hosea pressed. “Let them go. Then you and I can sort out where we go.” 

Arthur was smoking a half-wilted cigarette in the light of the rising moon when Hosea approached that evening. Nearby, there was the noise of merrymaking and, in at least one nearby building, lovemaking. Arthur thought he could hear the throaty grunts of John over the lusty squeals of Abigail and decided to make note of it so he could tease John about it later. His chest ached fiercely as he realized he would either have to abandon his family, or Sadie. 

"Hey Arthur," Hosea greeted with a small, short cough. 

"Hosea," he answered, and he tossed his cigarette to the ground, smashing it beneath the heel of his boot so the spicy smoke of it wouldn't make Hosea's coughing any worse. 

"You don't look nearly as happy about all of this as I expected," Hosea pointed out, one brow raised in a sagely expression. Arthur gave a short, humorless laugh. 

"Thought money was what I wanted. Thought freedom was what I wanted. Turns out I don't want neither," he mumbled, and they were both quiet for a moment as Arthur thought about what to say next. "Why'd you come back, Hosea? After Betsy?" Hosea hummed. 

"So that's what this is about. Sadie or Dutch and the others," he murmured in a knowing tone. "I came back after she died because I didn't think I had anything else to live for, Arthur. She was the love of my life. Put everything into perspective for me. That's why we left the gang originally, you know - tried to start a life on our own. And then she got sick." Hosea stared at Arthur. "I only had happiness for a moment, Arthur, and it wasn't here, it wasn't on the run, going along with Dutch’s plans. It was with Betsy. Out of the life." 

"I _do_ want out," Arthur finally admitted aloud, his heart pounding. 

"Then go, son. I know Dutch doesn’t say it often enough, but I’m proud of you. You’ve grown up into a fine man, despite how hard we tried to subvert that,” he chuckled, patting Arthur on a broad shoulder. Arthur chuckled quietly. “I’m glad you have one another, Arthur. That’s all you need, really. You know, you can’t be ‘Arthur Morgan’ anymore if you leave.” Arthur glanced at him. 

“What?” 

“Yep. And that nose of yours will have to go too.” 

“What the hell are you talkin’ about, Hosea?” 

“If you’re staying in the West, you can’t walk around looking like Arthur Morgan. You’ve got to be somebody else. You and John both.” 

TWO WEEKS LATER 

Sadie rode into Valentine, her stomach rumbling with hunger. She had gone out for a ride trying to decide what she wanted. To stay, or to go adventuring? Or something else? And constantly as she tried to decide, she was distracted by the thought of Arthur. Big, soft, sweet Arthur. He could never replace Jake, but he was _good_ for her. Pure. Kind. Good, despite his background and former lifestyle choices. She wiped a tired hand over her face and walked toward the general store after hitching her horse. 

"Newspaper, ma'am?" asked a young kid with a squeaky voice. "It's a new addition. Real excitin' news." Sadie gave him a skeptical look, but took a paper nonetheless. He handed it to her and her heart stopped. 

VAN DER LINDE GANG SCORCHED, O'DRISCOLL DEPOSED, read the headline. "Pinkerton detectives report that the notorious Van der Linde gang received justice from what appears to be a rival gang. Detectives found nothing but burnt bodies and the evidence of a shootout. Notorious gang leaders Colm O'Driscoll and Dutch Van Der Linde were found among the ruins." She knew that the story was wrong, that the blackened corpse labeled "Dutch Van Der Linde" was an O'Driscoll wearing Dutch's rings and she hoped this story would stick, that it would be enough to earn them their freedom from the Pinkertons and all their other enemies. 

She grabbed a few things from the general store, loaded them onto her horse and then walked over to the saloon, stepping inside. A big, black-haired man was sitting at the bar, nursing a whiskey and a broken nose. 

“Let me see, you big baby,” she insisted, grabbing his jaw and turning his head to the side. 

“John didn’t have to hit me so goddamn hard,” insisted the man in Arthur’s voice. 

“Jim,” Sadie corrected him automatically. “And he had to break it. All those wanted posters have your nose drawn perfectly, it had to go.” 

“Jim, then,” he groused, tenderly prodding his half-flattened nose. It would never look the same again after the walloping John had given him, with more than a little pleasure. 

“And how are you _Abram?”_ she pressed, emphasizing the name. He rolled his eyes. 

“I _hate_ that name.” 

“Well, then come up with somethin’ better. You can be anyone you want.” His unmistakable blue-green eyes met hers and he took her hand tenderly. 

“I know who I want to be, Sadie.” 

“Oh yeah?” she said distractedly, tipping her free hand to get the barkeep’s attention. He waited to speak until she looked back to him. 

“Yours.” Sadie felt her cheeks redden and she gave a rough chuckle. 

“Hush, you. You know,” she purred, tiptoeing her fingers up his arm. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with hmmm... _Albert_...biblically.” The big man blushed and bit the side of his lip, considering telling her that new name wouldn't work either. “Though,” Sadie said, leaning in close so she could speak right in his ear, “if I’d have known that was the last time I was going to sleep with Arthur Morgan, I would have screamed your name while I had the chance.” She tucked a strand of dyed jet black hair behind his ear and smirked at him.

“Come here,” he growled, and he kissed her fiercely, nearly leaving bruises on her plush lips. A couple of sleepy saloon patrons raised shocked brows at the sudden display of wild affection, but they ignored them. “So,” the man breathed, pulling away, “given any more thought to where you want to go?” 

“Figured we’d stick around here with Charles for a bit, make sure no one’s askin’ about the gang. Javier and Bill still followin' Dutch around like the damn fools they are. Lord knows what kind of a mess they're going to create in Australia even with Hosea there to try to keep them out of trouble," she muttered, but there was no venom in her tone. "Pearson’s looking into buying a general store or something. Tilly’s gone off to New Orleans, I think. John, er, _Jim_ and Abigail want to find a place in California. They’re headed out tomorrow, I figured we’d send them off, say goodbye before they leave. After that, we can go anywhere. Settle down. Whatever you want.” He hummed. 

“Sounds good to me darlin’. Sounds good to me.” 


End file.
